Lust and the Kawaii Kitty
by LadyRuebo
Summary: Bulla sulks her days away in a fever dream, remembering life's tragic events. Her family refuses to give up. Vegeta will barter for what wants. The debt must be repaid. Eye for eye. Tooth for tooth. Purr for Purr? Vegeta never thought his coarse hands would trade white whiskers and tiny pink toe beans for his daughter's smile. Vegeta's POV. MA only—sexual violence/ Adult themes.
1. Bows and Bruises

**Hey Guys, Ruebo here. Long time no see, or write I should say. I hope you enjoy this short four part story. Please feel free to leave a review! I would really appreciate it. Private messages are welcome as well. Please consider the graphic nature of this piece before reading. ^-^**

"Vegeta, hand me the bow"

"You're putting that on it?"

Woman, only you could look at me like that and live, let alone walk away. Nothing in itself is strange about presenting a gift. It's common practice among the galaxies. Even members of my race were proficient gift givers. The word was foreign to me in the human sense of it when I came to this blue marble. I had only heard 'barter' or 'trade'. No gift is one sided. No amount of advertising and human consumer brainwashing garbage can convince me otherwise. I know it inside and out. Forward and backward. Over and under. See the picture yet? I know you will Bulma.

"I know you're not into the wrapping and all that jazz, but just let me enjoy it, Mr. Kill joy"

There it is. The difference. Human beings are among the few interplanetary species that put forethought into the presentation of said gift. Wrapping it in flimsy, colorful paper to catch the eye makes it somehow more valuable in their crooked agendas. Clumsily tying ribbon on it increases its appeal somehow. Will wrapping a space craft make the thing run any better? Will putting a sticky bow on a plasma cannon make it more accurate? Will wrapping consumables-food and water make them taste better? Hell no.

"Use a different one"

"Next you'll be saying that I should wrap you up because You're the Gods' gift to this planet"

I don't discriminate against custom, but that doesn't mean I will participate. If you can even call this a custom. On planet Vegeta, Yadnom, Murabi, and all of the kingdom's territories it was best to not to wrap whatever it was. Just leave it alone. It was easier to avoid standard and keep both parties equal. If someone dared to wrap something it must be adorned lavishly and worthy of the eyes. That old king killed for less. If one presented him fine crystals from the moon of Maysee 6 earnestly in their bare dirty hands he would remember and spare the whole coalition when they failed on their next mission. If the same thing was presented in cheap red paper it was a disgrace. The hand was better. Ignorance was better. If you insist on doing it woman, at least do it well.

"Whatever. Bulma, I'm telling you—don't use that one. It's homely"

" Since when did you become an expert, dad?," Trunks halfway laughed.

Even my father wasn't exempt from this rule. He was vulnerable to both sides. My mother presented me to him in her own life blood. I was rendered to that white lizard tyrant wearing my finest clothes. I was instructed to behave accordingly. Disrespecting the royal line with my angry tongue wasn't going to be tolerated. I was to treat Freiza with the same respect I paid to my father. The fate of my race depended on it, but it was all horribly futile.

"I should know. I was one"

Come now, the silent treatment? I raised you to be more hardy than that boy. It's not the tiny red peel and stick bow that's swallowed whole by the palm of my hand, or the fact that I pulled the wide banded ribbon from your mother's soft fingers. Your eyes are almost the same shade of color as your mother's, but my son your eyes are light and airy—electric blue on even the darkest of days. You're hands are as engulfing as mine, now. You're shoulders are broad and your back strong, but I still see him in you, that hell raising boy that used to wrap his arms around my waist. Now you're big enough to join your arms around my back. You had to ask. Now you know. You were aware since your childhood really, but I see something different today. I see that it's sunk in, settling your smile beneath your flared nostrils. You're looking into me, like your mother does at last.

"Dad… I'm—"

"Never mind that"

"Vegeta, honey—," Bulma tried, "I would like to know what's wrong with it. If you feel like it"

You know better than to push me, always have. Don't cock your head over your shoulder, woman. Don't let the corners of your lips turn down. Don't let the attractive agitation fade away into something else. Too late—shit.

"It's the color"

"What?"

Don't look so surprised.

"Don't do red. Use another one. It's not kawaii"

"This isn't something you see everyday. Dad using air quotes"

Stop trying to change the subject.

"Why not red, Vegeta? It's her favorite"

Come now woman. I never took you for one to have lust for violence. What else is red…

" Bulma, take a second. Think about it"

" You do it, Vegeta. I warn you;I can wrap circles around you. Remember Christmas, birthdays… all me baby! I've got to see this"

The blame doesn't rest on them. It's not their natural implication, their trauma. I spent many evenings tugging at the red tie around my neck, watching guard over her as she conducted her meetings. As soon as we broke the threshold of the front door. I would rip it off and wind it around me fingers when out of her sight. She never knew. The tie was her gift to me— the irony.

"Did we miss something?," Bulma leaned closer.

I recognize that look, Bulma. You never were good at hiding it. Trunks borrowed his stoney face from me, but I can still see it—the wide spooked gaze as I straightened up my thrown back neck. My throat still tickled with passing laughter.

"No, you didn't. Just thinking…"

Seeing the red band would invoke images of slashing and gore beyond what was thought possible. Trunks may understand. His mother? Definitely not.

"Anyway, you pick out one then"

You're always so eager to just move on, Bulma. Is it a survival tactic?

"Fine"

It's alright son. You can move. You can let your brows rest again over your eyes. I'm just doing what is correct. Your sister deserves one that is fitting.

" Watch and learn woman. You want to see kawaii. I'll give you kawaii. This will do nicely"

"Didn't see that coming," Trunks gulped.

"Holy crap, Vegeta, I can't believe this!," She giggled.

"Eat it and weep, woman. Suck my—"

"You wish—"

"Alrighty then…. Dad:1 Mom: 2,546"


	2. Gears of the Mind

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If it was up to me, neither you or your brother would have a door. Yet, here I am— knocking on it. Why punish you so cruelly though? Privacy is key.

No answer.

"Bulla!"

"Sorry, come in, I'm descent"

There you are, sitting in your bed. I'll never understand it. I remember giving you that old grey tee shirt as a gown years ago. It used to hang past your knees. Now you have to wear shorts and a pair of knee high pink socks with ridiculous scribbles on it.

"Are you well this morning?"

"Yeah, I am"

Your nod doesn't convince me. You can't lie to me. I see through that fake smile. The yawn—it's real.

"Tired?"

"Yes"

"What the hell is that?"

"On my socks?"

A toddler with a crayon can do better than that. One is the damn horse thing with a horn on its head. A unicorn— yes, that's it. They're real, boys and girls. It's called a rhinoceros, and he will spear you. The other looks like an overcooked meat dumpling with a sausage strapped to its face.

"It's a unicorn and a narwhal in a fight"

"Oh. I see"

I see your smile. A real one.

" I have another pair that has sushi on them"

"Yum"

I haven't seen you grin like that in days.

"How are you daddy?"

"Fine. Are you hungry?"

"No. Not really"

My daughter, reduced to a Bag of bones wrapped in human skin. I took for granted your full face.

" Come, I insist. It's your favorite— pancakes are on the table. Hot and waiting for you, Eschalot"

"Daaaaaaaaaaad"

"No groaning. Come. You can brood all you like after your belly is full"

Your hand is so cold. Is this why you let me hold it as I walked you down the hall, practically forcing you to go to the kitchen table? Or is it I that wants to hold you? I'm clueless, but I'm not letting go. I'm content with your long fingers in my palm. It's a reminder ringing through my head—you're alive.

" Well, well, well. Look what dad drug down here this morning. Heya sis," he said with a lazy smile

"Good morning, bub. I didn't know you were still here"

"Mornin' Bulla"

"Come sit down, sweetie"

Why, Bulma, why? What kind of unnatural punishment is this. Exactly, Eschalot go sit by your mother when she's done patting your seat. Of course the woman would give me this chair.

" Mom, you need to explain to dad how narwhals rock"

" You really think your mother can convince me? I will accept no such thing"

Woman, smacking my shoulder will do you no good. It's not enough that I now have to hide this bag behind my legs. I'm absolute on few things. The meat dumplings are one of them, especially if I can use it to rile up my once feisty daughter. It's been ages.

"Dad, you hate 'em cause you ain't 'em"

"What ever you say Eschalot. If the meat dumplings on your ankles bring you contentment then so be it"

"Speaking of contentment…"

Boy, what are you up to?

"I have something I'd like to give you Bulla"

"Really?"

"It's not much, but I wanted you to get it back. I'll be gone a few days with my next work trip. Better now than never"

"Okay"

Apprehension is not the response that I wanted to hear in her voice, either Bulma. Judging by the look on your face, you had no idea about this either. Boy, I hope you used common sense.

"Ooooo, what is it!"

"Open it," Trunks offered the small blue box.

Tear through that paper, Eschalot. You're always so careful, so listless. Tear it up girl… show us that you're still in there… oh, no. Please don't cover your mouth. Your speechlessness tells all. One thing is for certain. The tiny box crumples under your fingers due to the might inside of your heart. Is it might to destroy, or is it the might of the fierce memory?

"Where did you find it, Trunks?"

Your voice is so heavy. Please take heed, girl. You'll crush us.

"In the basement. I put a new bell inside and repainted it"

"It's an old one, huh?"

"Yes, but it's still BB's ball. I thought you'd want to have it"

"It was Blue Bell's favorite…"

I hope that your shoulders would stay firm and not slump. My hope is lost. My wish will not be granted. Even the mighty dragon can't intervene this time. Your clenched hands have fell to your lap. A single finger prods the little metal ball. The bell jingles inside. Tell me Eschalot, are you feeling of the little mouses' whiskers or are you stroking your memory, their egos?. Are you captivated by its little pink ears your brother's attached and the little plastic tail he glued to the back, or are you thinking of Blue Bell's grey ears and tail? In all my years, I never thought a varmint's toy, a cat toy would be the wedge that divides you from this house and your heart.


	3. Reluctance

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 _Cool air nipped at Bulla's ears, but it was the least of her worries. She imagined that it was night time. She had to for her own sense of sanity. She wasn't sure if it had been hours or days. Her drooping eyes begged for sleep. Every thumping bang and foreign sound jolted her to sit up. Every time her bare back would press against the cold metallic walls. She was an ice block in pale skin. She loved the color silver. It was simple, yet elegant. It went with everything. Hours ago she would have thought that silver and red were lovers, born for each other to mingle together in this world. She sat huddled in her corner, hiding her eyes from the blinding reflection of the metallic riveted walls. It burned her pupils, and the brims of her lashes collected moisture. Her crimson red blood pooled beneath her bent knees. She knew the new meaning of 'naked and afraid' in the most literal sense. Her favorite colors betrayed her, like thorns in her blue eyes. They weren't peaceful lovers, but sadistic friends of her torment. Loud bumbling footsteps approached. Bulla turned to sink herself further into the sharp corner._

 _"Lookey here, boys," the first entering man said._

 _Bulla looked up at him over her clutched arms. His voice was unfortunately familiar. He was a tall lumbering figure. All of them wore the same sunburnt orange suits and heavy black boots. He pulled the maroon colored, visored helmet off of his head and tossed it to the ground. Bulla cringed as the hard plastic connected with the wall. The sound echoed across the shallow metal. Bulla considered the fact that they could be keeping her in some sort of cell or large air vent due to the constant flow of air. It was all speculation, and she knew it. She was blind folded most of the journey. The dank grey cloth didn't come off until they finished their first round with her. He was as handsome and unsuspicious looking as any other man that she had seen on Earth; of all things, this frightened her of most. His big brown eyes settled on her. His hair was as dark as the midnight sky, and well kept to boot. It was trimmed close to the scalp at the sides of his head and left longer on top._

 _"What are the orders for this one, Kalus?" One of them asked._

 _"Alive. That's all"_

 _"That sounds fun"_

 _"We've got a few days before they'll take her to engineering to extract genes. What are you doofuses waiting for. Get crackin' if you want some"_

 _"Any good?"_

 _"Standard. Wet and tight. A little green though. No diseases. Good enough for me"_

 _"The scared senseless ones are the best"_

 _"What ever gets you up. I like this one. She fights back…"_

 _They edged closer to Bulla's huddled form. She stood up, looking for somewhere to run. She found out the hard way last time. She would have laughed in their faces if they were earthling men, before moping the floor with them. All it took to subdue her was one, strong as an ox in its yoke. She didn't want to know who they were, but she knew they weren't from Earth._

 _"Get away from me!"_

 _"Calm down. Tell you what— I'll give you some water if I don't have to chase you this time. It'll be quick and easy"_

 _"No!," Bra cried._

 _"All you gotta do is give it up for a few minutes. Trust me, They'll be a fast bunch. Like forty seconds each"_

 _"Come on Kalus, you've got no room to talk"_

 _"So the rookie does speak. Good—you go first kid"_

 _"What?"_

 _"You heard me. Go first"_

 _"Sir—"_

 _"Are you a faggot?"_

 _"No—"_

 _"That's an order. You don't have to hurt her it you don't want to, but you're gonna fuck her. Understand me. I won't have you going astray when we get to post because your left hand isn't getting the job done."_

 _Bulla trembled. The ordered man came forward, barely picking his feet up off of the ground._

 _"Please, don't do this to me," she begged._

 _He stopped just a foot shy of her._

 _"Take your helmet off. I want you to look her in the eyes. I'll break you yet," Kalus called._

 _He didn't listen. He reached toward Bulla's covered breasts. She couldn't see his eyes through his visor, but she could sense it. She felt them burning into her bare flesh._

 _"No, please," she swatted his large gloved hand away._

 _He let her. His arm just fell lip by his side._

 _"Do it!," Kalus yelled._

 _"I'll be fast. I'll do my best not to hurt you," a deep voice said behind the helmet._

 _He reached again. He retracted his hand when claws met his fingers._

 _"Do I have to hold your damn hand? I know you know how to do this. I've see you do it…," Kalus said walking over, "I forgot about the beast"_

 _A grey Russian blue cat was tucked against Bulla's chest. She hadn't let go of Blue Bell since they were captured. When she stood at her balcony, Bulla thought nothing of the cat rubbing against her legs. She plucked the meowing creature from the deck. Then they both were gone, stolen away._

 _"Give it to me," Kalus demanded._

 _"No, please don't hurt her. She's old and she's deaf. She won't bother you"_

 _Kalus advanced. Bra ran adjacent to the wall unable to catch her breath. Tears blurred her vision. The sound of her own sorrow assulted her on all sides, as the sound echoed against the walls. The seventeen year old cat meowed from Bulla's cramping arms. Kalus reached over her shoulders trying to get to the squirming animal. Bulla turned into a corner of the room._

 _"No, please. Don't hurt her," Bulla cried as she used her back to shield her last precious friend, her remaining comfort that she could touch with her fingers._

 _"I'll let you do what you want if you don't hurt her," Bra begged all logic evaded her distraught brain._

 _The reaching man from before opened his arms. Bulla rendered the cat that had seen so many years. She was no longer plump, like in her kitten hood. Her joints shuffled with arthritis. Bulla let Kalus bend her shuddering body over at her waist. He ran his fingers between her legs. Blood tinged fluid stained his fingers. He marched up to the reluctant rookie and shoved his violent fingers beneath the chin of his helmet. The Helmet toppled off his head._

 _"Do you smell that… you want some of that. Go get it.. You'll be her substitute if you don't…"_

 _Kalus hoisted the protesting cat by the scruff of her neck. The rookie hung his head and headed towards Bulla, but he refused to look at her._

 _"Turn her around," Kalus ordered._

 _"No! No, you leave her alone you fucking bastard!, Bulla cried._

 _The reluctant cadet spit into the palm of his hand. Bulla struggled against him when his wet fingers spread her burning lips. She squeezed the saliva up her thighs as she clenched her legs together. It was too late. He entered her. Her cheeks burned with rage. He hadn't even began yet. He just sat there, soaking in her, breathing in her ear. His hand wandered from her belly, grabbing her breast. He slowly began to move, allowing himself to slip in and out of her. Bulla hated his girth and his warm flesh. She hated this room. She hated them. She hated herself. She rocked back and forth as his pelvis met with hers. He was slow, cursing her with his good promise. He saved her flesh, but he crushed her heart._

 _"There you go, boy!," Kalus whooped along with the rest of the group._

 _Blue Bell's raspy cries ended. The crowd joined in with Kalus, pulling and tugging her old bones. The slow moving man behind Bulla panted into her ear. She couldn't tell if he was in pain or exasperated. She wanted to fix the conundrum for him. She wanted to rip his tongue out of his mouth. He leaned back, balancing Bulla on his own Body. He released himself deep in her belly. The head of his member grinned against her cervix._

 _"No!," Bulla screamed. Saline tears spewed from the corners of her eyes. She shook her head with disdain and squeezed her eyes , but it did her no good. Blood splattered against the walls of her hell hole. The cat was ripped limp from limp. The cat's velvet fur was soaked with her own blood. Her head rattled on her twisted red neck. Bulla's only friend in this nightmare was gone- ripped to shreds all because she, for once, wanted to be petted on that fateful evening and Bulla obliged her._


	4. Bargain

"Now, Eschalot…"

"Dad, what are you doing?"

Rendering myself. Going against my own principles. A gift I give you, a trade disguised in a white paper bag.

"Here"

"Why are you holding it like that?"

"Look inside"

That's right peep through the bag like something is going to bite you. He may just do it. I see you're trembling hands and the shocked curve of your mouth. You hold back your tears, but I can see them flooding your spirit.

"Oh, God, daddy…." Bulla sobbed and reached in the bag with a single hand.

There you go, Eschalot. Let yourself feel something. Let us see you in that shell you've sunk into.

"It's so cute; hi kitty!," she cried, " Ittle bittle silky!"

Go ahead, show me your teeth. Raise your voice as you shamelessly tuck that little fur dumpling to your chest.

"Is it a boy or a girl?"

"A little boy. Do you like him?"

And the obvious question of the day award goes to: My Bulma—the smartest person in the room.

"He's like a little hairy baby! Look at his little bow-tie!"

Yes, love him. Gush over him. Pet his soft fur. Scratch the area between his ears with your finger. Let his little white whiskers tickle your neck. Smile over the forrest green bow I tied around his neck.

"Look at his toe beans!"

How could we forget about the most important part, people. The damn toe beans.

"Thank you, momma. Thank you Trunks"

"Thank your father. He put that on little mister kitty's neck"

"Daddy, I love it! Thank you so much"

"Most welcome, Eschalot"

I can't resist.

"Tell me, is he Kawai?"

I pity you Bulma. You really thought you won this battle?

" I didn't even think you knew what that most Kawai ever, dad"

"Bulla, honey don't stroke his ego. He'll break the chair. I'm so glad you like your kitty"

"Don't listen to your mother, Bulla. She's just using you to her advantage. Enjoy your 'Kawai' furry meat dumpling with legs"

"So what are you gonna call him?," Bulma asked, "He looks, like a shadow to me"

"You could call him derp-face. Yes, derp-face fits perfectly," Trunks said to the kitten's wide set eyes.

"Are you a little herpy, derpy, kitty? I got it: Earl"

"Earl!"

Woman, you didn't have to spit out your water all over me. I'm not surprised.

"Yeap. He looks like an Earl. Earl Grey Briefs"

How could I have expected less of you Eschalot, giving the runt of the litter such a thoughtful name. Earl Grey it is. Today I gave you a grey kitten with white socks on his feet, with the hope that you would rub his tuft of hair with your chin. I gave you a gift, hoping that you would return the favor, a barter I eagerly received. Something I've wanted for weeks—a smile.

 **I hope you guys found pleasure in reading this as much as I did writing it. Feel free to leave a review; they're crucial for improving content. What project would you like to see come to life on your screen next?**


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